


To The Victor, The Spoils

by linndechir



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: First Time, Intercrural Sex, Knifeplay, M/M, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 19:29:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17793362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linndechir/pseuds/linndechir
Summary: While Alexios is in Sparta, he and Brasidas finally find some time to spar against each other. Alexios didn't expect the winner to get more than bragging rights ...





	To The Victor, The Spoils

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thedevilchicken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/gifts).



Despite the late hour Alexios found Brasidas by one of the training grounds – still or again, for the sun had long set and most men had gone home to their families, at least those old enough to be allowed to live in their own homes rather than in the barracks. The usually bustling place was quiet now except for the lone clangs of shield and spear, the occasional groan of pain or exertion, and in between Brasidas’s laughter. Alexios kept to the shadows as he turned a corner so he could see what was going on. 

Brasidas was sparring with someone Alexios didn’t know – a grown man, but younger than both of them, with all that forceful vigour of youth. His form was perfect, not that Alexios would have expected any less from a Spartan, but against Brasidas he looked like a cub getting swatted around. Alexios had seen Brasidas fight, the coiled strength in him, the years of experience that made him see through every feint, and right now he still had breath enough to bark the occasional pointer at his sparring partner. Alexios saw the final attack coming before that young man did, the feint to the side, the easy deflection of a too straightforward attack, and then the force of the last shield push that threw him to the ground. The younger man raised his hand to yield, and Alexios chose that moment to step out of the shadows.

“Didn’t you already spend enough time today showing others up?” he called. As gruelling as the constant Spartan training was, it still usually allowed men to rest at the end of the day.

Even here, in the midst of Sparta, Brasidas turned immediately, his shield raised to protect both himself and his comrade on the ground. He looked magnificent in the torch light, sweat and blood from a cut on his lip gleaming on his skin, the muscles in his arms and thighs beautifully defined after the day’s exertion. He was everything Alexios had dreamt of being as a boy, strong and honourable and clever, and yet so quick with a smile. Now so as well, as soon as he recognised Alexios and lowered his shield.

“Me? I didn’t get around to it, since you already spent the day beating up my men,” Brasidas replied. He squeezed his sparring partner’s shoulder when he got back on his feet, exchanged a few quiet words with him and then sent him off to get some sleep before he turned back to Alexios.

“My nephew. He’ll be sent north soon,” he explained. He’d slammed his spear into the ground to scratch his beard with his free hand, eyes watching Alexios intently as if he was trying to figure out why he was here.

“He’s good,” Alexios said, glanced past Brasidas’s shoulder to watch the young man leave, then back at his friend.

“Not good enough. In a real fight, he’d be dead.”

“In a real fight with you, most men would be dead.”

That got Alexios one of those laughs he so liked, deep and carefree, like there wasn’t a war raging throughout the Greek world. Of course war was a Spartan’s purpose in life, but what he saw in Brasidas was more than just blood-lust. It was one of the things Alexios liked about him – that there seemed to be other things that brought him joy than _only_ fighting, as much as Alexios himself loved a proper fight. A good scheme, for example. An evening spent trading stories of their travels. An afternoon hunting in the woods and racing their horses.

“Did you come to offer me a proper challenge then?” Brasidas asked.

It hadn’t been the reason why Alexios had gone looking for him – there hadn’t been much of a reason at all, other than that he didn’t know how much longer he’d be in Lacedaemon and wanted to spend some more time around Brasidas before he’d inevitably have to leave. They’d only spoken a few times back in Korinth, but when Alexios had finally returned to Sparta (he didn’t want to say _home_ , as much as it felt like it, not when he might not be allowed to stay for good), they’d both seemed drawn to each other, eager to find out more about each other, even fought side by side once or twice. Never against each other, though.

“Why not? Someone once told me that fighting a man is the truest way of knowing him,” Alexios said. It had been long enough that remembering those words didn’t pain him too much, and even less so in his current company.

“I can think of another way,” Brasidas replied, and Alexios almost thought he caught him winking. But before he could ask, Brasidas went on, “You never fight with a shield, do you? You must have been taught as a boy.”

“I usually fight alone, not in a phalanx.” Alexios pulled the spear from the sheath on his back and gave it a twirl. “That makes speed more important than shielding myself and the man next to me.”

“If the shield slows you down, you’re merely not used to it.” There was a chiding note in Brasidas’s voice, but even that was playful. It was always so easy to forget the years between them. “You’re not using that spear, though, I’ve seen what you can do with it. No, I have a better idea.”

With that he put down his shield and started to strip out of his armour. Alexios raised an eyebrow.

“Is that the other way you were thinking of?” he asked, not quite serious and still not entirely sure he’d heard right earlier. Not because it was so unlikely that Brasidas might be interested, not after all the time they’d spent together, but because he’d never been entirely forthright about it.

Another laugh, and an impatient gesture until Alexios followed suit and started to rid himself of his weapons and armour. He thought back of the few years he’d spent in the _agoge_ , of countless hours of wrestling and boxing without a weapon in hand. He’d practised with spear and sword since he could stand, but he’d also been taught that a Spartan should be able to kill any man or beast with his bare hands. Weapons could be lost, shields shattered, armour pierced. A Spartan’s strongest weapon was his body, honed to perfection, steeled and sharpened over and over again.

The autumn air was cool without the sun to warm it, and Alexios wasn’t warmed up yet. He decided that Brasidas’s words had at least been invitation enough to look – at the sweat gleaming on his chest, at the way dark hair curled slightly on his thighs, up to where only his undergarments still hid something from Alexios’s view. There was a long scar on Brasidas’s right thigh, and a fresh bruise purpling his ribs – clearly _someone_ had at least put up a good fight during training earlier. Alexios was determined to add a few marks of his own.

He looked up only to find Brasidas looking back at him, a hungry intensity in his eyes that left little doubt about the thoughts that had so far been hidden behind his easy smiles and his teasing comments. When they’d gone hunting together a few days ago, Alexios had been so close to reaching out for him during a break they’d taken to rest their horses. Somehow he hadn’t. With most men he met, it mattered little if he’d misunderstood the looks they gave him, if they rejected his advances and his company. With Brasidas … the thought that he’d look at him differently, disapprovingly, was more intimidating than any fight. It wasn’t like him to hesitate, although he wasn’t sure if his _mater_ would disapprove in this particular case.

She certainly would have disapproved of him getting so lost in his thoughts that he was caught off-balance when Brasidas barrelled into him with a bull’s force, throwing them both to the ground with a heavy thud and pushing the air out of Alexios’s lungs.

Alexios hadn’t gone through a Spartan’s complete training, and it wasn’t often he wrestled men these days – at least not in the literal sense. Brasidas’s sweaty skin felt too slippery under his hands, and it took him a few moments until he found the leverage to flip them over, only to be rewarded with a sharp punch in the side he hadn’t seen coming. 

He’d _seen_ Brasidas’s strength many times before, but he’d never felt it as he did now, their bodies intertwined, hands grabbing straining shoulders and arms, strong thighs pressed so close he could feel the muscles shift under Brasidas’s skin. They were evenly matched, Brasidas’s experience in this kind of sparring balancing out Alexios’s strength, and if they were getting _distracted_ by the other’s closeness, then they were equally hampered by that, too. Brasidas’s breath was hot on his face, sweat prickled down Alexios’s spine, and his skin was burning wherever Brasidas’s hands had grabbed him, aching not from his touch but from the loss of it. 

Alexios felt Brasidas’s weight shift again before he felt him move, but this time he didn’t try to stop him when Brasidas flipped them back over to their original position. His grip on Alexios’s right wrist was inexorable and no doubt there’d be bruises on his skin later, but the one on his left was looser. Just as he moved in for a punch against Brasidas’s already bruised ribs, something smooth and cool was pressed against his throat. His spear, his grandfather’s spear, resting easily in Brasidas’s grip. It didn’t glow now, but even so it had a warm gleam to it, reflected in Brasidas’s eyes – the heat of a good fight gave them a savage look, and Alexios shuddered as much from the force of that gaze as from Brasidas’s weight bearing him down, the length of his body sweat-slick against his own. They were both breathing heavily, and what little fabric they still wore was ill-suited to hide the effect their fight had had on both of them.

“I thought we weren’t using that spear,” Alexios said carefully. He could feel his throat move against the blade, but he trusted Brasidas, his honour as much as his skill. 

“No, I said _you_ weren’t using it,” Brasidas replied. He grinned at him, wild and hungry like after a long hunt. Alexios’s skin felt too tight, his hands too idle when they couldn’t touch him. He licked his lips, tried to keep his gaze on Brasidas’s eyes rather than the way his veins stood out over the tensed muscles of his forearm.

“Sophistry from a Spartan, now I have seen –“ The sentence were cut short when Brasidas angled the spear against his throat, and on pure instinct Alexios stretched his neck to try and evade the blade, only baring his throat further in the process. And then he _heard_ rather than felt the dry scrape of the blade over his skin, from the hollow of his throat all the way up to his chin. Shaving a thin line into his beard, he realised belatedly, and then stopping when the tip pressed into the softness beneath his chin.

It was as if a burning thread flamed up from the edge of the spear right down to his cock, and everywhere Brasidas’s skin touched his, the heat seemed almost unbearable. He tried and failed to remember the last time he’d been so greedy for another man’s touch, his mind a fuzzy haze of frustrated desires.

“Would you have preferred me beardless, Brasidas, is that it?” He’d meant to sound teasing, but it only came out breathless, eager almost. It had been supposed to be a joke, but he could all too easily picture how impressed he would have been by Brasidas as a younger man, how desperate to impress him in return, to learn from him, to be taught all the things a boy could learn from a more experienced man, all the things Alexios had had to teach to himself. He swallowed. In a different life … if he’d grown up in Sparta, raised and trained in the _agoge_ , if he’d caught Brasidas’s eye as a boy … Surely Nikolaos would not have objected, not to a man so skilled and brilliant and honourable.

Alexios tried to clear his mind, to chase the thought for lonelier nights and savour the present. Brasidas seemed to consider the idea as well, then shook his head.

“No, but if you were, I would know what I’d do with you, my friend,” he said with that irritating smile that Alexios was finally close enough to kiss away, if not for the blade against his throat. It only made him want it more, just like Brasidas’s iron grip on his wrist. They were breathing the same air, gasping into it, really, far hotter between them than it had any right to be in the cool weather. 

“And you don’t know now?” Alexios pressed his thigh up against Brasidas’s crotch, felt him grind down against it with a startled groan. It was his own fault, really, for not stripping down entirely earlier, if he’d been planning this all along.

“Oh, I know what _I_ want,” Brasidas said, his voice low. “I don’t know if you’ll let me.” He bent down to press his lips to Alexios’s throat, right where the spear ended and gave way to heated skin, then licked over that smooth, oversensitive strip of skin. Alexios barely felt the scratch of that beard he’d longed to bury his face against since Korinth, tensed in frustration and squirmed up against him. He wanted more than simply to have an itch scratched, and he’d almost forgotten how unbearable that kind of desire was once the gods put it in a man, how ferociously it raged once it had him in his grip. He brought his free hand to Brasidas’s side, but rather than hit him again this time he merely ran his fingertips over the bruised skin, felt the slightest shudder go through Brasidas. 

“I’d suggest you fight me for it, but I think you just did,” Alexios said. His voice already felt rough in his throat, maybe with the effort to keep his moans contained when Brasidas bit him just below the jawline, sharp and hard enough to bruise, to place another mark on him in addition to the bruises their fight had left. 

“I did, didn’t I?” Brasidas looked at him with bright eyes, joy and relief mixed in his expression, and then the spear was suddenly gone from Alexios’s throat, slammed hard into the ground next to his head before Brasidas kissed him hard enough to take the breath out of Alexios’s lungs.

There was something of a fight in that, too, sharp teeth and demanding licks into Alexios’s mouth, and his hand had taken the spear’s place on Alexios’s throat, curling tightly around it, his thumb pressing hard into the soft flesh below his jaw to keep him in place. It was rough and painful and so good that Alexios forgot to breathe for a moment or two. 

When Brasidas let go of his wrist, they both fumbled for a few awkward seconds with what little clothing remained in the way. After that Alexios could finally touch him however he wanted to, run his hands over the hard planes of Brasidas’s muscles, dig his fingers into his hips to pull him down against him, gasping into the kiss when their cocks slid against each other. 

It briefly occurred to him that they were hardly in the most suitable place for this, as unlikely as it was that anyone would come by at such a late hour. Brasidas didn’t seem bothered by it, although he might well not have been thinking any more clearly than Alexios was at this point. He was still kissing him like a starved man, his muscles quivering with tension when Alexios slowly ran a hand up his back, along his spine until he reached the braid at the nape of his neck. He half expected to be stopped, but Brasidas made an encouraging little sound against his lips when Alexios wrapped the braid around his hand and pulled.

The ground was rough underneath Alexios’s back, hard and uncomfortable and dirty, and he still would have been glad to spread his thighs and let Brasidas fuck him just like this. It would have hurt, with nothing but spit to ease the way, but it wouldn’t have been the only mark Brasidas had left on him tonight, and it would have been by far the most pleasant one. Alexios had thought about that, a few times, though not half as often as he’d thought about Brasidas’s thighs tensing around his cock and about pulling him down by that braid of his, keeping the hair wrapped around his hand while he fucked his mouth and felt that glorious beard rub against his thighs.

“Getting distracted?” Brasidas asked with a laugh, breath huffing against Alexios’s lips. 

“Only by all the things I would do to you if I won,” Alexios replied and grinned. He reached down between them to take Brasidas’s cock in his hand, squeezed it slowly until he drew a gasp from his lips. “But I thought you were going to show me what _you_ want.”

“I would need more than one night to show you that.” The words sounded breathless, ended on a muffled moan when Brasidas buried his face against Alexios’s neck, his beard brushing against his collarbones. He stayed there for a few moments, his breath hot against Alexios’s skin while he stroked him, then moved so suddenly that Alexios almost worried he’d pull back entirely. Instead he shifted to straddle Alexios, his knees pushing Alexios’s thighs together while Brasidas took a moment to look down at them – they were similar in build, strongly muscled but still lean, Brasidas’s skin and hair just a shade darker than Alexios’s. Mirrors of each other almost, and Alexios would have readily admitted that he was vain enough to enjoy that thought.

When Brasidas offered him the palm of his hand, he nuzzled it for a moment before he licked over it, eyes meeting Brasidas’s so he wouldn’t miss the heat in them. Alexios ran his hands over Brasidas’s thighs while he watched him slick himself up, watched the way he stroked himself for another moment or two to see what he liked – and because he doubted there was anything he wouldn’t enjoy watching those scarred hands do. Brasidas was large enough to make Alexios’s mouth water, large enough that was almost glad he wouldn’t have to take him without any oil at hand. Later, maybe, or another night, after having those thick, strong fingers open him up first … 

He wrapped his arms around Brasidas when he lowered himself back down on top of Alexios, heavy and hot in the cool air, pulled him close when Brasidas slipped his cock between his thighs, high up enough that it slid against Alexios’s balls, the friction maddening and delicious and nowhere near enough, not even with his cock trapped between their bodies. Once again he grabbed Brasidas by his braid and pulled him into another biting kiss, as if he wanted to devour him, to swallow ever gasp and moan that left Brasidas’s throat as he moved against him. The muscles in his arse shifted under Alexios’s other hand with every thrust, slow at first, but quickly speeding up as Brasidas lost his patience, or simply realised there was no more need to hold back.

Alexios hadn’t heard him swear very often, not until now, the words muffled and broken off between kisses and gasps, every time Alexios tensed his thighs around his cock or bit his lip or pulled on his braid again. He kept looking up at Brasidas, didn’t want to miss his expression as his composure crumbled, eyes fluttering shut when he came between Alexios’s thighs. Hot and as pleasantly filthy as their sweat felt on both their skin, as filthy as the way Brasidas kept kissing him. 

He’d raised one hand to grab a fistful of Alexios’s hair, held on to it while his other hand reached down to rub his come into Alexios’s skin. Earlier it had occurred briefly to Alexios that Brasidas might be the kind of man to tease, simply because he could and because it would amuse him, and the thought came back now as Brasidas took his time fondling Alexios’s balls, slick fingers gently rubbing over the sensitive skin behind them, as if he almost regretted now that he hadn’t taken him in a different way.

When Alexios yanked hard on his hair and glared up at him, Brasidas only laughed.

“Are you trying to convince me I shouldn’t let you go first next time?” Alexios asked, but his voice came out more shaky than he would have liked, and he had to bite his lip to keep in a moan when Brasidas’s rough fingers brushed over his hole.

“Next time, hm?” Brasidas asked with a smile. There was nothing teasing in his tone now, neither mockery nor more harmless amusement. His fingers combed through Alexios’s hair, and he gently retraced the shell of his ear with his thumb. “You’re right, I can take my time with you somewhere more private.”

Alexios wasn’t sure if that was a promise or a threat, but he had no doubt he’d find out soon enough. It hardly mattered when Brasidas finally stopped teasing him, rough fingers rubbing his come over Alexios’s cock and then grabbing him more firmly. He was a little rougher than Alexios himself would have been, calloused fingers working him fast while Brasidas’s mouth was back on his throat, kissing and biting like he wanted to put a whole necklace of bite marks on his skin. That thought was the last push Alexios needed, that and Brasidas’s tongue licking over the smooth strip of skin he’d shaved earlier. Alexios came apart with a loud enough moan that Brasidas kissed him hastily as if to stifle it, as if he’d suddenly remembered where they still were.

They still didn’t get up immediately. Alexios wasn’t entirely sure he could have, not as boneless as he felt, not with Brasidas collapsing half on top of him, stretched out against him like they were lying in a comfortable bed and not on the hard ground. He let out a pleased hum when Alexios caressed the back of his neck, his thumb rubbing lightly over his spine. Brasidas always stood so straight-backed, a perfect warrior’s posture, full of pride and strength. Seeing him sprawled out like this, his head resting lazily against Alexios’s shoulder, felt as heady as the desperate hunger Alexios had seen in his eyes earlier.

For a few minutes they were quiet, more silent still than the night around them, heavy breathing slowing to something calmer and steadier again. Alexios had slept with enough men whose arms he hadn’t wanted to linger in for long once they’d both had their needs sated, but there was nothing unpleasant about this, about Brasidas’s fingers idly caressing his chest, his leg a comfortable weight on Alexios’s thigh, his beard soft against Alexios’s shoulder.

“You let me win, didn’t you?” Brasidas asked after a while. Alexios smiled against his hair.

“What makes you think that?” 

“I’ve seen you fight, Alexios. Really fight, not spar. You’re …” He paused, as if he had to think about the next words. “You fight like a Spartan, but with the force of a god.” There was no resentment in his voice. He made it sound like a simple fact, one he might not entirely understand – Alexios himself barely did – but was willing to accept as truth. When Alexios glanced down, he saw a quick smile flit over Brasidas’s face. “In a real fight, I would have been dead.”

“Maybe I did.” Alexios cupped Brasidas’s chin to make him look up. “Maybe I thought that if you’d lost, we wouldn’t have done this.”

Alexios kissed him again, slower than before, deep and lingering like a strong, undiluted wine to be savoured. Their lips parted with a quiet sigh, and Alexios still felt drunk on him. Whatever godly strength he supposedly had hadn’t bestowed any superhuman resilience on him when it came to this. When it came to _him_. He could still taste blood on Brasidas’s lips, and the salt of his sweat, and he imagined tasting every inch of his body the moment they were behind a closed door. Brasidas hummed quietly against his lips, while his fingers settled back against Alexios’s neck. Not gripping it, but merely resting there. Clearly he was planning to be a tease about that, too.

“Spartans don’t pull their punches,” Brasidas whispered, lips still touching his. “Next time, I expect you to beat me.” He paused and grinned a little. “If you really can.”

“You’ve certainly given me a very good reason to,” Alexios said, smiling when he felt Brasidas’s laughter rumble through his chest. “But maybe we should continue this elsewhere?”

“Of course. Come stay with me tonight.” Brasidas sat up, and Alexios’s gaze followed him hungrily, the play of his muscles in the torch light, that almost mischievous look in his eyes. “There are still a few more ways in which I intend to savour my victory.”


End file.
